


You Stole My Heart (The Way We Stole That Dog)

by the_one_that_fell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lots of alcohol, mentions of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:44:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“God, I hate him.” Bellamy drained his cup, much to Clarke’s disgust. He felt the warmth of the alcohol pool in his stomach and spread through his veins, clouding his judgement and banishing his inhibitions. “We should steal his dog.”</p>
<p>Or, the one in which Bellamy and Clarke break a law or two and become co-dog parents in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Stole My Heart (The Way We Stole That Dog)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. But they totally would.

Bellamy stood sullenly in the corner, grimacing as he took a sip of his punch. Svedka, he thought grumpily. The asshole couldn't even spring for good vodka. With a shrug, he chugged half the cup. It was shit alcohol, but it was still alcohol.

Honestly, Bellamy would've never come to this stupid party if Miller hadn't dragged him there. He hated Murphy and he hated Murphy’s friends and he’d just finished up a research paper and all he wanted to do was sleep.

(“You need more friends,” Miller had said, fiddling with his beanie in the bathroom mirror.

“You need to just ask Monty out,” Bellamy had retorted, with only slight petulance.

“I will if you come to this party and make a friend.” Miller didn't even flinch at the mention of Monty, the boy he'd been mooning over for weeks.

“I’d kill a man if it meant you’d stop pining. It's distracting.”)

Miller was currently making out with Monty on the other side of the room. Bellamy was happy for him, but wondered if this meant he could go home.

“Oh, thank god. I don't think I could’ve dealt with anymore of Monty’s pining.”

Bellamy turned to see Clarke Griffin, one of Monty’s best friends and roommate, sidle up to him, eyes on Monty and Miller. He laughed. “Yeah, I was ‘bout ready to murder Miller,” he said.

Clarke smirked and took a sip of her drink, then promptly spit it back out, getting most of it on the floor. Bellamy stifled a laugh.

“Oh, God, that's awful,” Clarke said with a grimace. “I hate everything about this party.”

Bellamy nodded in agreement. “Murphy’s a dick and has shit taste in alcohol.”

“Yup.” She popped the “p” and stared at her cup with distain. “Plus he treats his dog like crap.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. He didn't have much tolerance for people who treated other people like shit, but people who were cruel to animals? Zero tolerance bordering on intense loathing.

“God, I hate him.” Bellamy drained his cup, much to Clarke’s disgust. He felt the warmth of the alcohol pool in his stomach and spread through his veins, clouding his judgement and banishing his inhibitions. “We should steal his dog.”

“What?” Clarke’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” Bellamy shrugged. “It's not like I ever see him. And I like dogs.”

Clarke pressed her lips together so they formed a thin line. Then, a small, mischievous smile spread across her face, and she tugged on his arm. “C’mon, I saw it tied up out back.”

They maneuvered through the dark, loud room, past dancing bodies and intertwined couples. Clarke’s hand moved from his arm to his hand, and to anyone in the room they would have looked no different than any other drunk pair looking for a bit of privacy.

Bellamy had never really talked to Clarke before tonight. They'd mingled at other parties before and saw each other on campus from time to time, but she was just another friend-of-friend, barely even an acquaintance. And now she was helping him steal a dog – sober.

(Well, mostly sober.)

They slipped into the backyard of the run-down house, weaving between tall patches of weeds and forgotten, empty kegs. In the back of the yard, between the fence and a tree, a small, mangy-looking dog sat, looking underfed and neglected.

“Hey there, little guy,” Clarke said, voice soft and sweet. She crouched down and let the dog sniff her hand, movements slow and steady. The dog – Bruno, the name tag said – licked her fingers, then nuzzled its head under her palm. Clarke scratched its ears, grinning. “What a sweetheart.”

Bellamy glanced over his shoulder, checking that no one had followed them out of the house. “Quick, take off its collar. That way it'll look like he ran away.”

Clarke nodded and tapped at her temple twice, indicating that she liked his plan. “C’mon, lil bud,” she whispered to Bruno, slipping off his collar. “We’re gonna take you away from your mean ol’ owner.” Bruno very willingly curled up in Clarke’s arms, and the sight made Bellamy smile.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured to Clarke, and they snuck around the side of the house and out into the street. They jogged away from Murphy’s place, slowing only after they were a couple blocks away.

Now that they were out of immediate danger of being caught, Bellamy and Clarke fell into an awkward silence. They began the night virtual strangers, and now they were virtual strangers with a stolen dog.

Clarke eventually broke the silence by saying, “My apartment is only a couple blocks away, we can take the dog there to clean him up.”

“Uh, yeah, sounds good.” Bellamy ran a hand through his hair; this was now how he’d imagined tonight going.

“You should text Miller, tell him there’ll be more privacy at your place,” Clarke added. “Y’know, if he and Monty can keep it in their pants long enough to get back to someone’s room.”

Bellamy laughed and pulled out his phone. “Yeah, I'll let him know.”

_Bellamy Blake: u & Monty should go to our place. _

_Nathan Miller: not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why r you tellin me this?_

_Bellamy Blake: me and his roommate clarke MAY have stolen a dog & r taking it back to their place. don't tell Murphy. _

_Nathan Miller: I can't tell if that's a euphemism or not_

_Bellamy Blake: I don't even know what that could even be a euphemism for wtf dude_

_Nathan Miller: idk man ur the kinky one. U guys have fun, don't get arrested_

When they got to Clarke’s apartment, the first thing she did was pull out a bottle of whiskey. Bellamy wasn't an expert, but even he could tell it was the good stuff.

“I need to get the taste of cheap vodka out of my mouth,” was the only explanation he got, and honestly, it was good enough for him. As they sipped on their drinks, Bellamy and Clarke carefully washed off Bruno in the kitchen sink, then wrapped him up in a bath towel and sat him on a pillow in front of the heater. Then Clarke cut up some of Monty’s leftover chicken and put it in a little dish for him to eat. Within minutes of finishing his meal, Bruno fell fast asleep, happy and warm and safe.

Clarke collapsed on the couch next to where Bruno slept, patting the seat next to her and smiling up at Bellamy. He sat, feeling a little tipsier than when he arrived, but watching Clarke take care of Bruno had warmed his heart and turned his insides into goo.

“I think I'll rename him,” Clarke said after a moment, her glass almost empty. “Something like Buster or Rascall.”

“Potato,” Bellamy blurted out, silently cursing himself. “Um, I mean, when we were kids, my sister and I always wanted a dog, but we didn't have enough money, so we’d make pretend, and Octavia always called out imaginary dog Potato.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down. “Sorry, it's dumb, it's just the first name I thought of.”

Clarke smiled. “I like it. We can call him Po for short.” Bellamy looked up, and felt his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah,” he managed after a minute. “I'd like that.”

Clarke drained the rest of her glass and stood up to get more. “We’ll have to figure out how we’ll be splitting custody of Po. I don't suppose you live in a house?” She asked, voice hopeful.

“No, I'm in an apartment, too,” he said. “So no yard to keep him in.”

“Oh, well,” Clarke said, sitting back down with a full glass. “We can figure that out later. Regardless, he's already in a better place than he was before.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said a little drunkenly, mesmerized by the way she licked her lips after every sip. “Much better place.”

Clarke saw the way he was staring and smirked. “You know,” she said in a low voice. “I was sort of hoping not to go home alone tonight.”

Bellamy felt his heart plummet into his stomach, then he grinned, slowly, knowingly. “Well, as far as I can tell, you didn't.”

“That's true,” Clarke said, standing. “I guess the only question now is whether I'm going to bed alone or not.” She disappeared down the hall, and after Bellamy had pulled his jaw from off the floor he followed after her, their drinks forgotten.

 

The next morning, Clarke awoke to several text messages, a very naked Bellamy, and a hungry dog pacing at the foot of her bed.

_Monty Green: ok miller says u and Bellamy stole a dog_

_Monty Green: wtf please tell me he's kidding_

_Monty Green: actually no this is the weird kind of shit u always get involved in_

_Monty Green: at least tell me the dog is cute_

_Monty Green: OMG Bellamy never came home last night please tell me u tapped that_

_Monty Green: only u could steal a dog and get laid bc of it_

Clarke laughed and set aside her phone. Po crawled up to rest between her and Bellamy, licking both of their faces with enthusiasm. Clarke laughed even harder, and Bellamy groaned, gently pushing the dog away.

“Five more minutes, Po, that's all I ask,” he muttered, pulling Clarke’s pillow over his head. Po curled up against Clarke and licked her face some more. Bellamy peeked out from under the pillow and smiled softly.

“What?” Clarke asked, scratching Po behind his ears.

“Nothing,” Bellamy said, still watching them. “You two are just kind of fucking cute. That's all.”

Clarke grinned and sat up, dog curled against her chest. Bellamy followed, and before Clarke could ask if he wanted breakfast, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so chaste and soft and so different from the heat of last night that it made Clarke’s head spin.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Good morning,” she said, lips unconsciously following Bellamy as he pulled away, eyes trained on his mouth. “Um, so I guess we’re dog parents now?” Bellamy laughed and pulled Clarke closer. Po jumped off the bed, and settled under Clarke’s desk, where the rug was soft and fluffy.

“I guess we are. Probably should take him out soon.”

“Soon,” Clarke said with a sly smile. “But not right now.”

Bellamy trailed kisses up her neck to her lips, and said, “Yeah, I can think of plenty of better things we should be doing right now.”

 

Clarke laughed.

 

Years later, when Monty would give a toast at their wedding, he would begin it by saying, “It all started when Bellamy convinced Clarke to steal a dog…”


End file.
